Lines of Fate
by pathera
Summary: Some things are just destiny. Some things are just meant to be, and they cannot ever be changed. Ten songs, ten drabbles, Kirk/Spock slash.


A/N: So I've already done this little writing exercise before--ten random songs on shuffle, ten drabbles--but it was so much fun the first time that I just had to do it again. The first group of ten drabbles I did is called _Puzzle Pieces _and is a Jim/Bones pairing. This one, however, is one of my first forays into the lovely world of Jim/Spock. Most of it's written from Jim's point of view, just because I have an extremely difficult time trying to write Spock, but I did my best! Some of these are angsty, some of them are dramatic, some of them are fluffy, but they're all our favorite Captain and our favorite half-Vulcan! Any errors are my fault, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Hmm...well, according to these legal papers...nope not mine at all. Not even remotely.

Lines of Fate

**Mr. Chainsaw—Alkaline Trio**

If this is the last thing he ever sees…well, it wouldn't be a bad last image. Spock in front of him, brown eyes concerned and showing emotion as fully as a human. His vision's a little fuzzy around the edges, but that's only to be expected when one is bleeding severely from a wound. And infected with some weird alien virus on top of it.

"Captain?"

Interesting. Even Spock's voice seems farther away. A smile curls on his lips. "Spock," he whispers.

"Captain, you'll be fine. I assure you."

"Liar," he says. "And it's Jim." His smile dies a little. "I love you."

Spock's fingers press to his temple in a motion that he remembers from a cave on Delta Vega. Spock leans closer to him. His lips are so close, he thinks, dizzy. The world is fading, but it doesn't hurt. And Spock is here.

"I will not let you go," the Vulcan says, his voice so fierce.

He believes him.

* * *

**Pistol to my Temple—Scary Kids Scaring Kids**

There is no fear in his eyes.

Spock finds that…fascinating. He's used to it, of course, but the degree of control that Jim Kirk can muster still astounds him. And there is no fear in his Captain's eyes as he stares down the phaser, unblinking, his gaze a silent challenge.

Of course, Spock is the one whose heart is racing, whose breath threatens to steal away from, whose hands are trembling just slightly, despite his best efforts to control himself. How is it that Jim can be so calm and collected and he such a wreck?

He's terrified that the phaser is going to go off; that the finger will pull the trigger and Jim will be gone. Just…_gone_.

But Jim looks at him sideways and gives him a wink and there's a blast and the world is complete chaos. But the phaser is turned on the other man and they control the situation. And Spock finds he is capable of thinking again, now that Jim isn't facing down a gun for _him_. God, he never wants that again.

But he knows it will happen. It's an inevitable fact of being in love with Jim Kirk.

* * *

**I Have a Dream/Thank You for the Music—Mama Mia!**

All of his life he's been an optimist. Which is funny, considering all the shit he's lived through. He knows perfectly well that life isn't all peaches and roses. He knows that people die and people get hurt and that there are truly _evil _people out there. But he still doesn't lose hope. That's why he doesn't believe in no-win scenarios, because he believes, truly and wholly that things _can _turn out okay. That there _is _an answer out there.

He was optimist when his mother left the planet to run from the sight of him. (She has always made the excuse that she was needed off-planet, but that's shit and he knows it. Truth is she couldn't look into his eyes without seeing the husband who died for them.) He was optimist when Sam left him. He was optimist when Frank beat the shit out of him. He was optimist when he drove that car over the cliff—which is how he _knew _that he wouldn't die in that little criminal act. He was an optimist when the world exploded to chaos on Tarsus IV, when the world turned upside down and he had to fight tooth and nail to survive. Sure, his optimism took a blow there, but it never left him. He's always had faith that things _will _turn out okay. In his life he _has _to believe that.

Spock, on the other hand, is _not _an optimist. Of course, the Vulcan wouldn't necessarily brand himself a pessimist either—he believes in statistics and examinations of the situation at hand, rather than illogical belief that the outcome will land either way—but Jim knows better. That's why the pointy-eared first officer is always saying to him _"Captain, the statistics of us escaping this situation are less than—" _or something along those lines. Spock's just that kind of person, who relies on logical and science and doesn't _trust _the way that he does.

But that's okay. Jim has enough faith and optimism for the both of them. And he knows, looking into those brown eyes that everything _will _work out. He has faith in that.

* * *

**Don't Wait—Dashboard Confessional**

The smile on his lips is fake. It has cracks a mile-wide, but no one seems to notice. Apparently when he wants to be he can fool everyone. Except for Bones. But Bones isn't here right now, so that works out perfectly.

Unfortunately, he can't quite fool Spock either. The Vulcan is at his side, eyebrow arched. "Captain?" He asks, and the tones of his voice ask a myriad of questions: _Are you okay? What's wrong? _He just smiles more, putting more effort into it. He feels like he's about to crack.

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" He puts the formality there, between them, and Spock takes a step back. His forehead furrows a little.

"Are you feeling well, Captain? You seem to be functioning at less than your normal capacity for social interaction." He says _captain_, but what he means is _Jim_.

Suddenly he finds it absolutely tiring, trying to hold himself together like this. He shakes his head a little, and steps away. "I just need a breath of fresh air." Spock moves to follow and he shakes his head. "Don't wait for me, Spock," he says, and ducks out of the room and into the night air.

When he comes back though, he finds the Vulcan waiting in the exact same spot. Silly first officers who never listen to what he says.

* * *

**Fourteen—Hawk Nelson**

He sits precariously on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around his stomach. He's trembling, and he hates that fact. He feels the gaze upon him but he can't bring himself to meet it. He looks everywhere but at the Vulcan sitting in the chair in front of him. At the ceiling, at the floor, everywhere else. But he can't make eye contact. He won't.

If he does, he might break.

"Jim?" Spock's voice says, soft and low and warm. For once it's _Jim_ and not _Captain_, and that makes him snap out of it a little. Finally he lifts his chin and meets the gaze, holding onto the look in those brown eyes like a lifeline.

"When I was fourteen," he begins, licking chapped lips and swallowing his fear, "I was on Tarsus IV."

The story rushes past his lips and Spock listens, silent and _there_. And when he finally falls silent, choking on the memories, Spock reaches him and takes his hand.

"It is over," he promises.

* * *

**What I've Done—Linkin' Park**

Oh _god_.

He stares at the bodies of his crew members and feels the bile surge in his throat, burning acid eating him from the inside. It's all his fault, all his damn fault and he _knows _it. One mistake. _One _mistake is all it takes to unravel the world. One mistake is all it takes for the world to come unglued, for the seams to rip apart and hang by a tenuous thread.

_What have I done? _

He sinks to the ground, because his legs simply won't support him anymore. The ground is bloody and he can't keep the bile down anymore. He retches helplessly, weak and broken, guilt burning inside. A hand touches the back of his neck; a touch that he would recognize anywhere.

And he comes back to himself, slowly, but surely.

* * *

**As Long as You're Mine—Wicked**

He's burning. He knows that he should not be doing this, not here, not now, but he can't control himself. He knows exactly how close they came to death this time, knows exactly what he came so damn close to losing. All he wants to do is hold on. That's why he's pressing the protesting Vulcan against the wall of the stopped elevator, his hands running up and down Spock's arms, skimming up beneath his shirt.

Spock, logical to a fault, protests. "Captain," he says, "it is highly illogical for us to engage in activities of this nature in such a public place—."

He stops, pulls back a bit. "Spock?" The Vulcan looks at him, waiting. "I almost lost you."

"An irrational sentiment, as I am perfectly sound—."

"Spock." There's an order to his voice and the first officer's lips snap close. "Shut up and kiss me."

"If you insist, _Jim_."

* * *

**Dear Prudence—Across the Universe**

He's trying to look innocent. It's an expression that he has perfected over the course of many years. Too bad that it doesn't really work when everyone knows damn well that James T. Kirk has never been innocent a day in his life. He finally huffs a little and shoots Spock an apologetic, puppy-dog eyed look. The Vulcan sighs a little, expression neutral.

"Prudence is not one of your strong capabilities, is it Jim?"

He flashes a winning grin. "Nope. Never has been."

Bones rolls his eyes from over on the side. "That's a damn understatement," he growls out.

"Hey! It's not my fault!"

Both Spock and McCoy give him flat, oh-really? looks and he winces. "Okay, maybe this time it happens to be my fault. But you can't blame me for everything all the time."

Uhura clears her throat and they all look to her. "If you don't mind, gentlemen," she says in a perfectly composed voice—so composed that he wonders if she's been taking lessons from Spock—"we might want to focus on getting out of her alive. Now that our fair captain has," here she smirks, "outed himself we might need to explain a few things to our rather homophobic hosts."

* * *

**Send the Pain Below—Chevelle**

When he wants to, Jim Kirk can gain remarkable control of himself. That's what he's doing right now, as his alien captors press red hot iron to the bare skin of his chest. He wants to scream because _damn _that hurts, but he grits his teeth and closes his eyes and _refuses _to scream. He won't give them the pleasure. He doesn't let a single sound pass from his lips. He just clenches his jaw until he thinks his teeth will crack and his hands curl into such tight fists that his palms are bleeding from his nails, but he does everything possible not to let them show that it hurts.

It's only physical, after all. He has a high threshold for pain, and he simply won't give them the satisfaction. Which is honestly all they want from him. They want to hear him scream. They want him to beg for mercy. They want him to break. They don't want anything else from him, just the knowledge that he _can _be broken.

He won't give them that. He won't.

The press the hot iron harder against his skin, branding him.

He conjures the image of Spock's face in his mind and sends himself away.

He never screams.

* * *

**Stan—Eminem**

If he's thinking logically—which he never is—he knows to expect that not everyone will like him. He's perfectly prepared to meet people who don't think he's worthy of being captain. He's ready for people who think he's a rash hot-head who got into his position by a combination of nepotism and good old corruption. He's ready for people to point at him and say that he's too young; that he's going to screw everything up, that he's a criminal who should be locked away.

He's ready for all of that. What he's not even remotely prepared for are the people who like him too _much_.

But they come along as well. They send him letters. Some of them start out normal and then get progressively worse, obsessive when he doesn't answer, angry when he doesn't respond, pleading. Some of them describe—in lewd, obscene terms—what they would do to him. How much they would like to fuck him and play with his body and be inside of him totally and completely. Some of them talk about details that they shouldn't know about, about his home or his family or little personal details. Some of them talk about how they are more worthy than the people he has in his life. They're all different, but they're all so obsessively focused on him.

He feels dirty after he reads them. Paranoid, like he can't trust anyone. He deletes the emails and burns the letters and retreats into the bathroom to scrub his skin, scrubbing and scrubbing until his skin is raw and pink and he still feels so…_violated_. It makes him shudder, his skin crawl, his head spin.

And when it gets bad he locks himself away in his room. He doesn't want this. He never has. But then Spock comes in and sits on the bed and gathers him in his arms, and he can forget all about it. The only thing he wants is the stars stretching out in front of them and the feel of his lover's arms around him.

* * *

See that little blue/purple button? It's calling your name. It whispers _Review, revieeeewwww._


End file.
